overture
by marianne in chains
Summary: [KanoneEyes]Monsters of our own making, trapped within the knowledge of man and beast. Crow screeches a warning into the dead sky. And the nightingale sings this ballad of mockingbird.


name: overture

created by: seetoo

type: spiral suiri no kizuna

specification: kanone/eyes

subject: # 19 mirror

# 20 crows; nightingales

warning: seetoo being retarded with her not-style. gratuitous parentheses abuse.

legality: fanwork. belongs to someone other than seetoo.

content: the knowledge of man and beast cannot coincide, and here is the monster you always wanted to be. nightingale sings the overture- this ballad of mocking-bird.

.:x:.

Things brilliant and beautiful tend to fade, and every song will have an ending. This is one of the key truths of life, but has a way of surprising people. Death is not the final end, per se, simply a cut-off, a warning, a gentle nudge in the right direction. There is no ever-after, no chance of continuing life unto death. Not everyone completes their story before death-many strands of life lie incomplete over the world, a blanket of failed existence. Those who are unfinished rarely know it-how can you discern something like that when it has always been that way. But sometimes there are those who can tell. And they are the ones that

(watch you with those eyes that are too old, and never old enough)

die. They die alone and incomplete, beautifully aware of how fallible humans are. There are no fairy tales for monsters. (think: blood carnal red red red) What else could be so acutely aware of humanity, but that which constantly strives for and desecrates it? We have yet to learn the lesson of Frankenstein.

(these monsters of our making)

Kanone is the most dangerous type of monster. One that has a certain modicum of control over himself, something dangerously close to being human. He has already discovered his flaws, his empty spaces, knows where and how to fix them. But he knows also, like a monster and a beast, that he will

(break and break and break until there's nothing left to pretend with)

fail. Of course he doesn't want to-what human does? But here are his two natures at war, the man and the beast. Locking in eternal conflict until he dies. The human balks and clings to the afterlife, and the beast embraces death, escorts as many to its gates as possible. They are still, however, united in what they want. The man wants to be fulfilled, the beast simply wants. Love. Warmth. Companionship. The beast is a herd animal, the man within him is not.

And that is precisely why he is so dangerous. Someone (some **thing**) that can kill you twenty different ways and still wants to hold you, to love you. It is impossible to respond correctly to such a thing. Such an abomination. Such a mistake. (cursed children dead and dieing children)

He is laughing. Short, bitter, and dreadfully amused. Eyes shifts against him, making a small noise to express his disapproval. Kanone shifts so that Eyes' head rests upon his shoulder, not his chest, and continues to chuckle. Rio is singing in the other room, loud like only innocents can be, she does not shirk the off-pitch quality of her tune, but embraces it without question. He snorts.

(what beasts we are)

And the he begins to listen to her. The laugh is back, still bitter and amused and painfully aware that she is holding a bright white blinding mirror to his life. Hopelessness is easier to see when watching someone else. It hurts, it hurts, and the man denies it, the beast rages against it. He cannot, will not permit himself to fail.

Just another person to let down.

'mourning dove sitting on her cold, empty perch, crying;

come back, come back to me when you are eagle sky-king

mocking-bird, mocking-bird, I cannot love you

so pretty-bird, pretty-bird, fly away home'

If only it were that simple; the mocking-bird and the dove. But no, no, no. This is real life. (let go of the fairytale, dearest, you are far too old to **believe** in such things) He is no crass white-gray mocking-bird come around to the window. He is the crow, blindingly, painfully black, his screech less a song than a warning. (next it will be your innocence. your heart. your soul. then we will take you)

Eyes is no mourning dove either, no matter how much his hair and the dove's wing mesh. He is the nightingale, one of Philomel's stock. Enchanted to fly away from the one who would harm him. Kanone grips the nightingale tight, trying to clip those wings and wondering when he shall fly away home. 'If,' the man cries, 'there is always an if.' But there is not, not this time.

(such is the knowledge monsters are gifted with)

'her shoulder cannot bear the weight of your tears

her sorrow cannot support you'

Eyes glances up at him, searching for a cause for the tension within Kanone. He finds no answer, only a smile that is shattering and rebuilding itself as he watches. They are afraid, but for two very different reasons. The crow screeches its raucous warning into the dead sky.

'mocking-bird, mocking-bird, I cannot love you'

Kanone searches those shards of impossible blue, looking for something he refuses to find. Eyes is trapped there, refusing to allow himself to move. Philomel stirs and trembles, warns of violence and hurt and pain and flee, flee, flee. He will not. Not while Kanone remains here.

(he knows the unspoken ending to all of this, has already memorized kanone's back.)

'so pretty-bird, pretty-bird, fly away home'

-fin-

:and your love for the crow will never fade:


End file.
